


all of your pieces

by flirtingwithtrackers



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Mild Language, Separate Drabbles, Shameless Smut, Smut, Unplanned Pregnancy, artist!Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-12 06:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3347687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtingwithtrackers/pseuds/flirtingwithtrackers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a set of what will hopefully be eight bellarke au drabbles for <a href="http://b-ellamyblakes.tumblr.com/post/110449172354/i-n-f-o-r-m-a-t-i-o-n-hello-fellow-bellarkers">b-ellamyblakes' #bellarkeficweek</a><br/>each drabble is its own, they are not necessarily all in the same universe<br/>1. valentine's day au - the one where neither of them seem to have plans (T)<br/>2. road trip au - the one where clarke has to go home and bellamy goes with her (G/T)<br/>3. first date au- the one where clarke gets stood up (G)<br/>4. first 'i love you' au - the one where bellamy lets it slip, <i>oops</i> (T)<br/>5. surprise party au - the one with the <i>after</i> surprise party (E, very E, SMUT)<br/>6. 'you're beautiful' au - the one where clarke needs a life model (G)<br/>7. clarke is pregnant au - the one where no one even knows they're dating, let along banging (G/T)<br/>8. wedding au - the one where clarke gets married (G)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hot date

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoy!!
> 
> will change tags, rating, etc as i go :))
> 
> also, none of these are beta-d so sorry if i miss any typos or mistakes....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 01: valentine's day au
> 
> or, the one where neither of them seem to have plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy annnnd
> 
> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY TO ALL YOU BEAUTIFUL BUTTERFLIES <3333

Clarke’s curled into the couch, a pillow clutched in her arms against her chest. She’s been sitting there almost all day since she woke up that morning and crawled her way out into the living room. Clarke could be doing some of her homework, but instead she’s been watching an _America’s Next Top Model_ marathon on Oxygen. She made sure to grab the bag of candy Octavia left on her bedside table with her. There’s a cute little note written on a stupid pink heart attached.

She’s surprised to hear the front door to the apartment open. Octavia told her that Lincoln had planned a Valentine’s Day surprise that would keep her out all day, _and probably all night_. Clarke turns her head towards the door to see a familiar mop of unruly black curls over the top of the couch. She almost gets up to fully turns towards him and ask him what the hell he was doing here, but she decides to wait until he walks around to her.

She remains in place, pillow covering her chest and her legs tucked underneath her. Clarke turns back towards the television, but there’s a commercial on. Bellamy makes his way over to her, peering curiously at her, taking in her sweatpants and the few candy wrappers scattered around her. Her hair is tangled into a braid that’s swung over her right shoulder and Clarke’s pretty sure there’s chocolate in it.

“What are you doing here?” Clarke asks after Bellamy doesn’t say anything. He’s just staring at her and it’s making her nervous, his head titled to the side and his dark eyes roaming over her.

“Octavia gave me a key, said I could do my laundry here. The laundry room at my place flooded last week.” He pauses, his eyes flicking over to the TV just in time to see Tyra Banks stand in front of the judgment panel with nine photos in her hands. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“And why wouldn’t I be? This is my apartment. Why are you even doing laundry on Valentine’s Day? No hot date?” Clarke doesn’t mean to sound bitter, but the look on Bellamy’s face indicates that she just might.

“I haven’t really been seeing anyone lately, so no.” Bellamy looks down at the ground. Clarke is waiting for him to make fun of her pathetic Valentine’s Day plans. Ever since she found out about Raven a few weeks ago, Clarke’s hopes of a nice, romantic Valentine’s Day has been thoroughly crushed. Octavia told her about a singles mixer happening down at the Dropship, but Clarke would rather stab herself with a scalpel than get dressed up to try to impress some strangers at a sad single’s party on Valentine’s Day.

But he doesn’t.

“Well, I’m going to go throw my load in. Do you know where O keeps her detergent? I forgot to bring mine.” Clarke sends him into the hall closet to grab some and hears the door shut as he leaves.

***

About an episode and a half later, Bellamy comes back into the apartment and the girls are in the middle of yet another photoshoot. She hears him walk down the hallway, his boots smacking against the wooden floors until the carpet in the middle of the hall dampens the sound.

Bellamy makes his way back into the living room, stopping by the end of the couch near Clarke’s head, her body now stretched out over the couch. “Thanks for the detergent. I’ll be heading out now. Tell O I’ll text her tomorrow morning.”

Bellamy makes his way towards the door, bending over to pick up his laundry bag. He’s grabbing for the doorknob when he hears Clarke’s voice ring out across the room, “Wait!”

She’s not really sure why she said it, but she doesn’t want him to leave. Even though he’s a real pain in her ass, Bellamy Blake really isn’t that bad. He’s actually pretty good company, once Clarke got used to him always being around, always checking on Octavia (and maybe her, too).

He looks over at her, her blonde head raised up over the top of the couch, her golden hair falling out of the small black hair tie knotted around the end. Her sleeve is falling off her shoulder, revealing smooth skin. Bellamy is looking at her expectantly, eyebrows raised.

“Are you busy tonight?” Her voice sounds small in the empty room.

“Nope. No hot date, remember?” Clarke smiles at the smirk that curls on his face as he tosses her words back at her.

“Do you want to stay? I’ll let you watch the History Channel.” Bellamy looks at her, one eyebrow cocked, waiting for the condition. She continues, a laugh in her words, “As long as we switch back during the commercials, of course.” _There it is_.

“Is there food in this deal?” Bellamy asks her, pretending like he hasn’t already decided that he’s staying. He has nothing better to do and, even though they don’t always get along, he likes Clarke. She’s a good friend to his sister, smart, funny (though he’ll never tell _her_ that). And Octavia may have told him about Finn. It’s not that he pities her, he knows she can take care of herself, but he feels the need to protect her, look after her. Like with Octavia, _right?_

Clarke laughs back at him, promising him something edible as he makes his way towards her, his laundry left near the door. Clarke pulls her legs up towards her to make room for Bellamy at the end of the couch and offers him some of her pity chocolate.

*** 

Bellamy starts awake. He picks his head up off the couch arm and takes in the dark room around him. The TV is still on, the light flashing across the room. On the other side of the couch, Clarke is curled up on her side, facing towards the back of the couch. Her toes are buried in his side. He checks the time, _3:23 pm_. They must have fallen asleep during that documentary about Nostradamus. _Or was it the Byzantine Empire?_

He looks around the room until he finds a blanket thrown over the top of the armchair next to him. Bellamy gets up, grabs the blanket, and drapes it over Clarke’s sleeping form. Some of her hair is covering the side of her face. The blonde curls lay across her eyes and cheek. Bellamy’s about to brush it back behind her ear, his hand lingering near her shoulder, until he catches himself, pulls away.

He gets up to grab his stuff and head home but stops at the end of the couch. Clarke’s shoulder is still bare and Bellamy can see the small moles that mar the fair skin there. Bellamy leans over the arm of the couch and pulls the blanket up higher, covering Clarke’s shoulder.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, princess.” 

He grabs his laundry and locks the door on the way out.


	2. red eyes and long nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 02: road trip au
> 
> or, the one where clarke has to go home and bellamy goes with her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy babes :))))

She gets the call just as she reaches up to grab some cereal out of the cupboard. She places the box on the counter before pulling her phone out of her pocket. She almost doesn’t pick up. Clarke is not really in the mood for another fight with her mother. But, in the end, she slides her finger across the screen, unlocking it.

Bellamy finds her sitting on the kitchen floor when he gets home from work. Her back is pressed up against the dishwasher and her arms are wrapped around her knees. Her hair is stifling the sound a little bit, but he can hear the sobs wracking through her. He rushes to Clarke, getting down on his knees beside her. Bellamy pulls her into his chest, her arms automatically wrapping around his waist. She pushes her face into the softness of his shirt. Her tears soak into the fabric. Bellamy maneuvers her until she’s in his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs throw over his own as she tries to gain control over her breathing.

He doesn’t ask her what’s wrong. He just holds her, one hand rubbing her back and the other tangling into her hair. She’s asleep in his arms a few hours later.

*** 

A week later and Bellamy is throwing their bags into the trunk of Clarke’s car. He slams the trunk shut and the loud noise makes Clarke flinch, her eyes squeezing shut.

Bellamy had packed for the both of them. Clarke was curled up on the bed, telling Bellamy what she wanted him to put in her bag. She could probably have done it herself, but Bellamy had insisted. Clarke has gotten used to the worried look on his face, the wrinkles on his forehead seemingly permanent now. Not that she doesn’t appreciate it, she does.

Clarke is curled up in the front seat now, her slow breathing indicating that she is once again asleep. She’s been asleep all week, only leaving the safe confines of their bed to eat with him at the dining table, still wrapped in a blanket. Bellamy takes in the bag under her eyes, the redness of her face, how her eyelids are swollen and pink. Of course he’s mourning her father along with her, but he’s mourning Clarke, too, the part of her he thinks must have died along with Jake. He almost can’t bring himself to look away from her and back at the road ahead of him. 

***

Bellamy pulls over in front of the Griffin residence as few hours later. It’s almost dinnertime, the sun setting behind them. Clarke is still asleep, her face buried in her arms. Bellamy walks over to her side of the car, slowly pulls the door open. He places a hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her.

“Clarke. Clarke. We’re here,” Bellamy whispers at her, afraid to break the silence around them. His hand rubs up and down her arm, waiting for her. She pulls her head up, looking over at him with a bewildered look on her face. Once she regains her bearings, notices her childhood home looming over Bellamy’s head, she looks back at him. There’s a small smile on her face before she leans in to press a soft kiss to Bellamy’s cheek.

Looking at him now, crouching on the curb, a small smile on his face, Clarke feels her heart swell with the love she has for this man. This man who has taken care of her and allowed her to fall apart when she needed to, who has brought her food when she just couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed, who curled himself around her at night to help her fall asleep when she couldn’t stop crying. If only for a moment, Clarke’s heart warms at the look in his eyes, the pure love in his features as he smiles at her, still surprised by the small kiss she just placed on his cheek.

He stands up, his hand reaching out for hers to lead her out of the car. They walk up to the front door hand-in-hand.

***

Bellamy wakes up the next morning in Clarke’s old bedroom alone. He groans as he sits up, taking in the light blue color of the walls and the art posters on the walls. There’s a print of Van Gogh’s _Undergrowth with a Couple_ on the wall directly across from the bed. He’s about to get up and look for Clarke downstairs when the door slowly open, a rumpled Clarke coming in. 

Her face is still a light shade of pink, but now there are sheet wrinkles on her face, small indents pressed into the soft skin her cheeks where her face was pressed into a pillow. A small smile takes over her face when she looks up to see Bellamy already looking at her, his hair a dark mess of curls hanging over sleepy eyes. He’s almost sitting up in the bed, his back pressed up against the many pillows scattered around the headboard.

Bellamy just looks at her, watches her pad over to him, crawl onto the bed, and curl into his side, her face settled on his chest. He plays with the hair splayed down her back, waiting for her.

She leans over into him. “I couldn’t sleep last night so I slept on my dad’s side of the bed,” is all she says. Clarke had startled awake late last night but didn’t want to wake up Bellamy, _again_ , so she crawled into bed with her mom. They shared her dad’s pillow, Clarke’s head on one end and her mother’s on the other, facing each other. Her and her mother have had their many, many differences in the past, but Clarke can’t imagine getting through this _and_ ignoring her mother.

Bellamy just nods, his other hand moving to play with her fingers.

“I missed you, though, your warmth,” she whispers into his the fabric of his shirt, her eyes closed tight as she takes a deep breath in. “I love you." 

“I love you, too,” Bellamy sighs into the hair at her temple.

 

*** 

Clarke had hoped that she had cried herself dry after an entire week and a half of bawling her eyes out every time she even thought of her father. But, as she’s walking into the church down the street from her parent’s house, she can already feel the tears welling in her eyes at the sight of all the people her father had impacted in some way, all the people who will be mourning her father alongside her.

The service drags on as more and more people go up to talk about what a wonderful man her father is— _was_. Clarke doesn’t know if she can take it anymore, this service, the sounds of everyone crying behind her, the tears flowing freely down her own face, the tear tracks on her mother’s, the picture of her father set up in the middle of the stage, his smiling face looking down at her. Her father is dead. And now nothing feels right.

But every time Clarke feels like the grief is about to swallow her whole, the warmth of Bellamy’s hand grounds her. He’s been standing by her the whole service, the whole week, the whole time, his warm hands on her waist, the small of her back, wrapped around her, tangled in her own. Bellamy has been her rock through it all and that warm feeling pushes the grief back just enough so she can breathe again.

Looking at the man beside her, his normally mussed curls slicked back into relative neatness, looking at her with such concern even with tears in his own eyes, Clarke thinks that maybe, _just maybe_ , she’ll make it through this. 

Bellamy squeezes her hand, his larger hand practically enveloping hers. Clarke’s world stops spinning just long enough for her to squeeze back, a small smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if that was a little sad, a little bit of my actual life bled into it and i let it happen
> 
> but happy ending???? :))))))))
> 
> HOPE YOU LIKED IT


	3. the wrong red dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 03: first date au
> 
> or, the one where clarke gets stood up
> 
> also for anon prompt: bellarke + "We’re both meant to be going on blind dates with other people but we sat down at the wrong table and got our hopes up"
> 
> NOW A TWOSHOT [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3426785/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you like it guys!
> 
> super excited for tomorrow's drabble oh man

Clarke sighs again, placing her elbow on the bar and resting her chin in her hand. Monty and Jasper practically begged her to go on of this date and now Clarke’s waiting at some bar downtown in a too tight dress that Raven _insisted_ she wear. Clarke runs her hand down her thigh, as if that will make the damn thing _longer_ , every few minutes. She’s been waiting to order her drink, waiting for _him_. She waits another five minutes before another sigh escapes and she raises her hand to grab the attention of the bartender at the other end of the bar.

 _Shit_ , he’s late. He is so late. His sister is going to kill him. She’s been nagging him to go on this date for weeks, maybe even months. And it’s not that he’s actually too excited to go on a blind date set up by his _sister_ , of all people, but that same sister is going to _kill him_ when she finds out that he was almost an entire half hour late to the date that’s she’s been talking about for the past two weeks after Bellamy finally agreed to it. 

He’s finally standing outside the bar, breathing heavily after practically running down the block to the bar from his parking spot. Bellamy tries, in vain, to push his hair back into the neat hairstyle his sister _insisted_ on. He’s pretty sure his unruly curls are slowly escaping the gel O bought for him.

Bellamy rushes into the bar, hurriedly patting down his jacket and checking for his wallet in his back pocket. He scans the bar looking for the girl he’s supposed to be meeting with. Octavia told him she’d be wearing a bright red dress, most likely because she thought he wouldn’t be able to find her otherwise.

Sitting in the middle of the bar, a pretty blonde in a red dress is tugging at the hem of it, scanning the room. She looks like she’s waiting for someone and it’s probably him. Bellamy does have to give his sister some credit because this girl is _gorgeous_. Her blonde hair is cut short, just brushing the tops of her shoulders, which are revealed in the tight red dress she is wearing. There’s a martini sitting in front of her, or what used to be one, the olive sitting alone in the glass. She turns to look at the door again and Bellamy can see the bright blue of her eyes. And okay, yeah, his eyes may also linger on the cleavage visible at the top of her dress. Okay, and the long lines of her legs and the way her dress moves up her thighs with her every move, until she grabs at the hem again and tugs it down.

He walks towards her, her back now turned to him as the bartender asks her if she wants another drink. Bellamy can now see the cut outs in the back of her dress, revealing the small of her back and more fair skin, the dip of her spine. She turns towards the door again and then she’s looking straight at him.

Clarke is pretty sure Raven described the guy as tall, dark, and handsome. As vague as that description is, it’s never looked better than on the stranger walking towards her. His dark hair is slicked back, but Clarke can see a few curls that have broken free. The dark blue of his sweater goes well with the tanned color of his skin. Under the rather thin material of his sweater Clarke can see the bulge of the muscles of his arms and the span of his broad shoulders. With a pretty face like that, and presumably the body to match, Clarke’s almost not mad at him for leaving her waiting. She gives him a small smile, trying not to mess with the hem of her dress.

Bellamy can see the blonde take him in, her eyes scanning his chest and face, and can’t help but smirk. He may be late, but at least she already looks interested. Maybe he can charm her enough that she won’t even tell Octavia about his tardiness. He reaches her chair and turns his back to the bar to leave against it. Bellamy smiles at her, a genuine smile that leaves her cheeks lightly reddened. He’s about to lean in and say hi when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to see a tall brunette in a red dress smiling at him. 

“Bellamy?” the girl says, briefly looking around at Clarke before her hazy green eyes bore into his again.

Bellamy looks back at the blonde before turning back to the woman in front of him and extending a hand. “Roma, nice to meet you.”

The couple moves down to the other end of the bar, but not before Bellamy sneaks one last look at the hot blonde in the red dress. Bellamy wants to think she looks disappointed now, but Roma starts asking him questions about himself and he has to look away. 

Clarke may actually be seething. She doesn’t know who Nyko is or what he looks like (which apparently is _not_ like the gorgeous guy with the beautiful dark eyes at the end of the bar), but he is now 45 minutes late. _That’s it._ She’s giving this mystery guy 15 minutes and then she is leaving. Clarke flags down the bartender for what she assumes will be a final drink before she goes home to tear this dress off and catch up on some TV shows.

Bellamy hasn’t been listening to Roma for the last 5 minutes or so. She’s talking about something very animatedly, her hands moving around in front of her and a large smile on her face. She’s cute, she really is. And she’s flirting with him, her hand placed on his arm as she laughs, leaning into him. Roma is very cute and she has a great laugh, high and breathy, but Bellamy cannot stop himself from peeking over her head every few minutes to see if the blonde is still waiting for her date.

Roma’s telling him about her new job as a third grade teacher when Bellamy sees the blonde down the rest of her drink, place a bill on the bar, and get up to head towards the door. He wants to stop her, buy her a drink, even though he has this very cute, very nice girl in front of him who seems pretty into him. He’s an _idiot_.

Bellamy struggles his way through an excuse to leave, hoping to catch the blonde outside the bar before she leaves. He rushes to the door, pushing it open quickly. His breath puffs in the now cold night air, the clouds bursting into his line of vision, but he still doesn’t see the blonde anywhere. Bellamy walks down the block a few moments before giving up and walking to his car. There’s no use in trying to take his excuse back and continue on their date. His sister is going to _kill_ him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this definitely didn't go where i thought it was going to go, i _swear_ i had a happy ending in mind...


	4. let me paint you a picture (of our love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 04: first 'i love you' au
> 
> or, the one where bellamy lets it slip, _oops_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS ONE IS THE FIRST ONE I FINISHED BECAUSE I LOVED THIS
> 
> AND THERE IS ARTIST!CLARKE BECAUSE I AM TRASH
> 
> i hope you like it :)))))

Bellamy wakes up alone. He can feel the emptiness of the spot next to him, cold and unoccupied. 

He opens his eyes to find he is right. Clarke is no longer there. And neither are the sheets. Bellamy finds his boxers on the ground next to the bed and pulls them on before venturing out of the bedroom and down the hallway. He can hear a low humming coming from the room down the hall and he smiles, following the sound. Bellamy peeks his head in the doorway and the sight before him makes his chest feel tight even though he’s seen it many times before.

Clarke is sitting on a stool in front of a large canvas, a paintbrush shoved through her golden curls to keep them away from her face. She’s in the sheets from the bedroom, the white fabric wrapped around her torso and under her thighs, the rest pooled around the legs of her stool. The sheets have fallen down a bit to reveal the soft skin of Clarke’s back. Bellamy can just see the dimples on both sides of her spine right above where the fabric bunches over itself at the seat of the stool.

_Dimples of Venus_ , Bellamy thinks, a smile tugging at his mouth. He’s never thought of Clarke as Venus, but she sure is beautiful enough for the job—to be the goddess of beauty.

He pads further into the room. On the canvas in front of Clarke, Bellamy can see dark swirls he assumes are supposed to be his bed head. Underneath the sea of dark brown, Clarke has painted his three-quarter profile, his eyes closed, his eyelashes long on the broad planes of his cheekbones. She’s painting his sleeping form, adding small smatterings of freckles in another shade of brown with a thin brush.

It isn’t until Bellamy’s fingertips creep up her spine that Clarke seems to realize that she’s no longer alone in her studio room. She feels his breath on the back of her neck and she tries to suppress a shiver, setting the brush onto the easel. Bellamy’s lips press to the nape of her neck, a warm pressure against her skin. His lips place a few more kisses onto her shoulder, his fingers pulling the paintbrush from her hair. Clarke’s hair spills over her shoulders and back and Bellamy brushes it out of his way before lightly tugging on the ends. He dips his face into the crook of her neck, his lips exploring the skin there. She lets her head fall back as his teeth nip at a spot near her collarbone, a small sigh escaping her parted lips.

Bellamy sneaks his hands underneath the sheets wrapped around her torso, placing them over her hips. He drags his hands up and down her sides and Clarke leans her head back onto his shoulder, breathing deeply. A soft moan escapes her lips as Bellamy tugs at her earlobe like he knows she likes.

“God, I love you.” He breathes it into the skin under her ear, his fingers dipping into the spaces between her ribs.

It isn’t until Clarke stills underneath him, her shoulders tense, that Bellamy realizes what he’s just said. He pulls away, eyes wide. Bellamy struggles for something to say, to take it back. But he knows it’s true. He can’t take it back and he doesn’t want to. They’ve been doing _this_ for a few months now, even though they’ve never put a label on it. He may not know exactly what it is that they are, but he knows what he wants them to be. _Hell_ , Bellamy has spent more nights at Clarke’s apartment this week than at his own.

He stands behind her, his fingers finding her spine again, dragging up and down the bumps of her vertebrae. Bellamy waits for her, his heart pounding in his chest. She turns around to look at him, her blue eyes meeting his for the first time this morning. She has an arm pressed across her chest to keep the sheets up over her chest, even though Bellamy can still see her cleavage spilling over the top. He’s pretty sure if he looks hard enough, he can see her nipples through the thin material. But Bellamy doesn’t, because he’s too busy trying to figure out what she’s thinking.

Clarke’s eyes search his face like they are looking for something. Bellamy can’t take the silence in the room, Clarke’s eyes on him, but he can’t bring himself to look away. He won’t back down from his proclamation, although he really wishes she would just _fucking say something_.

Bellamy doesn’t realize that he’s been holding his breath until Clarke turns towards him and brings her hand up to the side of his face. She leans into him. Clarke pressing her lips to his, a sweet, chaste kiss before she pulls back. Her forehead rests on his and she closes her eyes.

It’s so quiet he almost doesn’t hear it.

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couldn't resist 'dimples of venus' when i found out that back dimples are called that, mythologynerd!bellamy is my everything


	5. happy birthday to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 05: suprise party au
> 
> or, the one with the _after_ surprise party
> 
> essentially 2k of married!bellarke smut so

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO THIS DEFINITELY GOT AWAY FROM ME, I AM ALMOST SORRY
> 
> LITERALLY NOTHING BUT SMUTTY SMUT SMUT
> 
> hope you guys enjoy it :)))

Bellamy comes home from work to a house full of people, his wife walking towards him with a birthday cake, candles lit on top of it. “Happy 30th Birthday” is written across it in her loopy cursive.

He smiles after the shock wears off, placing his bag down at the doorway. Everyone starts singing as he wife stands in front of him, cake held up in between them. The candlelight illuminates the few blonde strands that have fallen out of the many pins she uses to keep her short hair back framing her face. They’re looking at each other over the cake, the rest of the voices muffled as he takes in his wife’s grin.

The singing stops and Clarke has to push the cake towards him, reminding him he has to blow out the candles now. She whispers a soft “Happy birthday” into his ear when she hugs him after her mother takes the cake from her to start cutting it.

Bellamy’s talking to his mom and a fellow professor from the university about their students when his mother finishes his drink. In an attempt to escape a story he’s heard approximately 10 times already, Bellamy grabs his mother’s glass and excuses himself to refill it. He is searching the fridge for some more iced tea, when he feels someone come up behind him. He turns his head to see his wife and she presses a quick kiss to his cheek.

“Do you know where the iced tea is?” he asks her, moving away from the refrigerator door.

Clarke’s hand reaches in, moving some stuff, before placing the tea on the island behind them. “Here you go,” a soft smile reaches the corner of her lips. 

Bellamy moves closer to his wife to wrap his arms around her, “Thank you for this.”

Clarke hugs him back, her head in the crook of his neck. She pulls away for a few seconds before leaning into him, her lips next to his ear, “I have one more surprise for you,” she breathes.

Bellamy chuckles, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, once everyone leaves,” and with that his wife walks away from him, her skirt swaying behind her. She talks one last look at him before she turns into the living room and there’s a devious smile on her face.

Bellamy spends the rest of the party anxiously awaiting its end. It’s not that he really wants everyone to leave, he’s really glad that everyone was able to make it to celebrate his birthday and he loves any excuse to see his mother and (temporarily) steal his sister away from Lincoln whenever he can. But dammit he wants to know what that _surprise_ is.

Especially since Clarke keeps smiling at him from across the room, running her hands over the span of his shoulders as she walks by him. She even leaned forward onto the table when he was sitting across from her, giving him a great view straight down her blouse.

When everyone leaves, Bellamy practically races up the stairs to their bedroom, his tie and sweater already off. He’s struggling with his belt in their room when Clarke walks in. She pushes him back onto the bed with a hand on this chest, a smirk on her face at his eagerness. 

“Wait here,” she says before retreating into their bathroom.

About ten minutes later, Clarke opens up the bathroom door. She’s taken all of the pins out of her hair so the golden strands just graze the top of her shoulders. Clarke revels in the way Bellamy quickly looks up at her, his mouth going slack as he takes in his final present of the night. She’s wearing a light purple garter slip that’s approaching entirely transparent, the fine lace stretched across her skin embroidered with white and gold flowers. The slip stops at her hips, followed up by matching panties. Clarke had tried on quite a few sets before finding the perfect one and the look on Bellamy’s face is definitely worth it. Okay, and she may have bought a matching flower crown—small white flowers surrounded by dark green leaves—which is now placed over her soft, blonde waves. She was kind of hoping to give off a mythological fairy vibe, but now she’s not so sure.

She stands in the doorway of the bathroom for a few moments, letting Bellamy get a good look at her. “Turn around,” he orders, his voice rough. Clarke obliges, stepping closer to him before spinning in a slow circle. There’s a large bow tied in the back keeping the tulle sash secure around her waist. She’s sure Bellamy is appreciating the lack of fabric covering her ass since she really only wears thongs on special occasions, _such as this one_. 

Clarke is facing him again and she feels a warmth hit her core at the way Bellamy’s eyes are darkened, his pupils wide.

She looks like a fairy princess, the lilac of the slip going perfectly with her fair skin. The flowers in her hair make her look ethereal, like the Romantic paintings of water nymphs Clarke loves so much.

Bellamy begins unbuttoning his shirt, never taking his eyes off her. She doesn’t move any closer to him, instead watching him strip off his shirt and pants while she plays with the garter strings hanging over the top of her thighs.

“Well, are you going to just stand there or do I get to unwrap my present?”

Clarke laughs at him, her voice light and airy, before she walks towards him. She pushes on his chest again, signaling him to move back onto the bed. Once he’s laying back, Clarke climbs on top of him, both of her thighs straddling his hips. She drags her nails lightly down his chest as he stares up at her.

From his position below her, Bellamy can now see just how transparent the lace of her lingerie is. Underneath the tulle, the least transparent part of her whole ensemble, Bellamy can see the small indent of her belly button through the fabric. Higher up, Bellamy can see the dusky pink of her nipples, already hard, through the cups of her bra. There’s a small bow resting in between her breasts, centered in the middle over her sternum. 

Bellamy reaches up to her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over the pert tips of her nipples. Clarke moans lightly before pushing his hands out of the way so she can lean down into him. She places a wet kiss on his lips, her tongue slipping into his mouth. 

“You look beautiful,” he breathes into her neck. He smiles at the small blush that reaches her cheeks.

Bellamy places his hand on her hips, his hands rubbing against the lacy material. The slight roughness of the material has an idea slowly forming in his mind, in between all the thoughts of _Clarke, Clarke, Clarke_. 

Clarke sits up again, her lips swollen and wet. Her hand comes up to push a strap of her shoulder and then the other. Her hand then reaches for the side zipper when Bellamy takes her hand in his, stopping her.

“No, no, keep it on,” Bellamy smirks at her surprise, and uses the distraction to pull her against him so he can flip them over. Now Bellamy is crowding her into the mattress, his hands pressed into the bed to keep him hovering about her. Clarke’s looking up at him, her cheeks a pretty pink and her blue irises receding. He leans in, his hand grabbing the flowers from her head and places them on the bedside table, and kisses her forehead tenderly.

Bellamy moves to kiss her full on the mouth before his lips trail down her neck and onto her collarbone. His tongue travels down the valley of her breasts, stopping just above the little purple bow. Bellamy nuzzles her breasts, the lace rubbing against his face. He bits down lightly on the uncovered skin on the tops of her breasts, and Clarke moans, bringing her hand up to tangle into his hair.

Bellamy laves at her nipples through the thin material, the meshed surface pressing into her sensitive skin and Clarke feels like screaming. She almost wants to yell at him for biting the lace, _he has no idea how much this set cost her_ , but a whine comes out instead. His teeth tease at the peak of her nipple, lightly tugging. Clarke’s grip on Bellamy’s hair tightens and she can feel his chuckle against her breast. She almost feels embarrassed but just can’t seem to care as Bellamy moves to her other nipple to torture it the same way.

Despite the whine of disappointment that Clarke makes, Bellamy moves further down her body until his breath is ghosting over her clit. He looks up at Clarke to see her looking back at him. When he smirks and then presses a small kiss to the lace of her thong, Clarke lets her head fall back into the pillows. Bellamy sucks at her clit, indulging in the low moans coming from Clarke.

Her hands are over her face, pressing herself further into the mattress and Bellamy presses the gossamer material into her clit with his tongue. Clarke imagines the wet stain that’s probably going to be there when he’s done, a mixture of his saliva and her arousal. Bellamy keeps at it until Clarke’s mewls become too much. He hooks a finger around the small string at her hip and tugs down her panties. He licks firmly at her clit and Clarke wants to explode.

Clarke had not anticipate this turn of events when she spent an entire day in Victoria Secret’s finding the perfect set for Bellamy’s birthday, _not that she is complaining_. She had planned on tonight being all about him, knowing he’d reciprocate later, maybe in the morning. So the view of Bellamy Blake’s head in between her legs and the light lilac color of her now _favorite_ lingerie set is not one she was planning on seeing. But what a beautiful sight it is. Bellamy’s tongue swirls around her clit and Clarke presses her hands into her face again, trying to control the jittery feeling presses up against her skin.

“Fingers, Bell. Fingers,” Clarke begs, desperate for her climax. Bellamy smirks up at her and she mumbles a few _please Bell_ ’s and he has no choice but to obey, unable to deny her.

Bellamy presses a finger into her heat and groans at the feeling of her wet arousal around him, “Jesus Christ, Clarke.” She just moans in response, her hand once again grabbing onto his dark, messy curls and tugging lightly. Bellamy’s lips move back to her clit, mouthing at it, as he pumps two fingers into her. Clarke has one hand in Bellamy’s hair, keeping him where she wants him, and another in her own hair, trying to ground herself.

Clarke’s moans turns into Bellamy’s name, which she repeats over and over, almost in tandem to the overwhelming feeling of Clarke around him—around his fingers, the soft skin of her thigh under his hand, the feeling of her against his tongue, how she bucks up into him, the way her breathy voice seems to surround him.

She comes around his fingers with a final moan. Bellamy licks her and his fingers clean before moving up to kiss her square on the mouth. Bellamy lays down next to her, head propped up on his hand so he’s leaning into her. He drags his fingers up and down one of the seams on her bustier, waiting for her to come back to him.

Clarke finally opens her eyes, still a little glazed over, to look at him. A large, lazy grin stretches across her face and Bellamy cannot stop himself from kissing her. Clarke reaches down into his boxers then, wrapping a small hand around his cock and pumping him a few times.

Bellamy jerks up into her hand, before stilling her. “Okay, you can take it off now.”

He moves off of her so she can sit up. Bellamy helps her with the zipper down the side, pulling the slip off completely before laying it down on the ground next to the bed (even though he really wants to toss it across the room, but Clarke would kill him). She lies back down, her short blonde hair splayed around her like a halo. Bellamy takes in the beauty that is his wife, her fair skin and the few dark freckles scattered on her chest and shoulders.

Her soft pink nipples contrast with her light skin tone and Bellamy takes the opportunity to flick his tongue over them, feeling them pebble under his attention. Clarke grabs at his hips, pulling her towards him in impatience. He settles in between her legs, his cock still straining against his boxers. Clarke hurriedly pushes them down. Bellamy would laugh, but he’s just an eager as her, wanting to bury himself into his wife’s heat.

Bellamy positions himself at her entrance and Clarke whispers a _please_. He pushes into her and sighs at the sensation. Bellamy sets a steady place, already very keen to what Clarke likes. He slows down just a bit, earning a gratifying whimper (for him, of course). He’s moving at a pace just fast enough that her orgasm is in reach but just _not_ _close enough_.

Clarke’s cheeks redden in frustration and the devastating feeling of helplessness. This is her favorite part, when Bellamy makes her wait for it, always slow and steady. Clarke can feel her orgasm slowly crest as Bellamy reaches down to rub at her clit, licking his fingers first. She could cry in relief.

Bellamy leans close into her to kiss at her neck. He could swear her hears her whisper _asshole_ at him, but the look on her face implies otherwise. Clarke clenches down around him and Bellamy isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to last. He speeds up, his fingers still rubbing at her clit in tight circles. Clarke’s body arches up into him as her second orgasm hits and Bellamy follows her a few thrusts later. He pulls out and collapses into her side.

Bellamy places his head on her chest, his arm thrown over her waist. Clarke’s hand push into his hair, leisurely playing with the dark strands, as Bellamy makes random patterns into Clarke’s stomach.

“Well, happy birthday to me,” Bellamy mumbles into her chest, a chuckle in his voice. 

Clarke only giggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so lbr, i _sorta_ imagined the birthday party scene from 'killers' but minus the killing and plus like way more sex soooo
> 
> and i got some inspiration for victoria's secret, going of their [lilac embroidered merrywidow](https://www.victoriassecret.com/lingerie/garters/embroidered-merrywidow-the-victorias-secret-designer-collection?ProductID=229869&CatalogueType=OLS), SO CUTE OH GOD
> 
> let me know what you think!


	6. a blank canvas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 06: 'you're beautiful' au
> 
> or, the one where clarke needs a life model

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoy :)))
> 
> also, i know nothing about art so sorry if i ruined it
> 
> thanks to [belamygrifin](http://belamygrifin.tumblr.com) and [ohlydiah](http://bellarke.ml) for beta-ing for me so last minute :)))

Bellamy walks into the apartment, the small blonde in front of him moving out of his way after letting him in. In the back of the room, opposite to all of her hung artwork, canvas paintings are leaned up against the wall, some complete and some still in progress. Bellamy doesn’t know much about art, but he is impressed by her use of color—how some colors compliment one another while others contrast in a way that makes him wonder what emotion she was trying to convey, how she felt sweeping the paint across the canvas.

The blonde in front of him is shorter (and prettier) than he thought she’d be, though he really only had her voice to go on. When Bellamy saw the flyer for volunteer models, he signed up before he could stop himself. He can’t remember her name from their brief and awkward phone call, so he decides to introduce himself.

“Hey, I’m Bellamy,” he extends a hand towards her.

“Clarke,” the blonde smiles up at him. “Thanks so much for agreeing to this.”

Clarke has been in a slump for a while, seemingly unable to finish any project, which was beginning to mess with some of her deadlines. Lincoln had suggested switching things up, trying a style or subject she wasn’t too familiar with, but that was proving harder with every day she put off painting. She has only done a few sessions with a live model before, and that was a year or two ago. Clarke is used to sketching people, sometimes sitting at a coffee shop and trying to capture the different faces around her, but she is not too familiar with painting people. All the color possibilities and skin tones… Clarke knows she has her work cut out for her.

Clarke searched through the small directory of life models the art school has until she found one that struck some of her long lost inspiration. Later that day, she called him and asked when he would be free to sit for her for a few hours. And now here he is, standing in front of her, and he’s even better looking in person. Clarke brainstormed the colors she planned on using to paint his skin tone days before their session, to try to do it justice.

On the far side of the room, Clarke set up a couch covered in a white sheet with stool propped beside it. “You can decide where to sit. Just try to get comfortable and I’ll let you know if I need you to move,” she mumbled shyly in his direction.

Bellamy walks towards the couch without a word, trying to decide the best way to sit. The nervous fluttering of his skin doesn’t help as he attempts to position himself in a way that isn’t too awkward, and the feeling of Clarke’s eyes on him at all times doesn’t help either. Bellamy had anticipated more direction, but Clarke apparently feels inclined to let him do as he pleases.

He looks over at Clarke briefly, watching her set up the canvas, organizing her brushes. 

She glances over at him. “Oh, and you can take off, or leave on, whatever you’d like,” Clarke hopes she sounds much more confident than she feels. She turns away before Bellamy can see the blush creeping on her cheeks.

Bellamy pales slightly at the request. He hadn’t even thought about taking off his clothes. Not that he would particularly mind, but the thought of Clarke staring at him while he’s undressed and then recreating it onto her canvas is a little nerve racking, even for someone like him. In the heat of the moment, Bellamy strips off his shirt and moves over to sit on the couch before he can change his mind.

Bellamy stretches out on the couch, moving around until he’s comfortable. With one elbow on the armrest and his legs stretched out in front of him, he arches his back to try to put a little space between him and the couch cushions. Bellamy pushes his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit, waiting for Clarke.

While he preoccupies himself with finding the best position for Clarke, she is still setting up, laying her paints out on a table next to her canvas. When she finally looks up to see Bellamy lounging on the couch in front of her, shirtless, she has to stop her jaw from dropping open. She hadn’t even seen him take off his shirt and the newly revealed skin now demands her attention. Clarke stands in place, taking in his pose—or that’s what she’ll tell him—debating what colors to use and where to start.

Bellamy feels a little self-conscious under her scrutiny, not that he has _anything_ to be ashamed of. After a few silent minutes of Clarke just staring, looking down at her paints a few times, Bellamy feels the need to say something, anything, to fill the room.

“What? Should I move? Is this okay?” Bellamy begins to move, pushing up off the armrest before Clarke replies.

“No, no, don’t move! That’s good.” 

Bellamy stills, uncharacteristically bashful under her gaze. “Then what?”

Her voice is a whisper, as if she doesn’t mean to say it: “You’re beautiful.” 

Clarke seems to shake herself out of whatever trance she was in, her cheeks reddening _again_ as she looks back at her paints. Bellamy thinks he may hear her mumbling something about the golden ratio and symmetry and how it’s not _her_ fault, but he has the grace to ignore it instead of launching into a rant about Da Vinci. He does have other things to do today.

When she finally has the strength to look up again, Bellamy is studying her, a small smile on his face. Clarke could swear his cheeks look a little darker, but that may just be her imagination.

Clarke finally sits on the stool in front of her easel after finding a good vantage point and begins with a base coat on her canvas. “I’m going to start painting. Let me know if you ever need to get up and stretch for a few minutes.”

*** 

A few hours later, Bellamy’s butt has fallen asleep and Clarke is almost done with her painting. He asks to take a break and takes the opportunity to sneak a peak at her canvas. When he gets around to her, she’s working on his hair, her paintbrush flicking swirls that resemble his rebellious curls. Bellamy is taken aback by the way Clarke has painted him: it definitely looks like him, but there is something about it that makes him think this painting is more representative of how she sees him than how he really looks.

Clarke looks up at him, paintbrush still in her hand, a worried look on her face. Bellamy just nods, a smile in place, before going back over to the couch for one last sitting of the night.

*** 

Over the next few weeks, Bellamy had become Clarke’s favorite source of inspiration—not that she’d ever tell him that.

After a few more, shorter sessions, Clarke invites Bellamy over to her apartment one more time to show him the final product. She also reveals a few smaller paintings of him that he had no idea she was even painting. A light blush rises on her high cheekbones at his surprise. Bellamy is once again amazed at being able to look into her mind and see himself through her eyes. She thanks him again, smiling up at him.

Bellamy has been gone all of 15 minutes when Clarke gets a text, “Are you free for coffee this weekend? I have a few thoughts about the golden ratio and the Mona Lisa, if you’re interested.” 

She feels like an idiot smiling down at her phone, but she can’t really seem to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARTIST!CLARKE BECAUSE I AM A SUCKER
> 
> let me know what you think! almost done with all my drabbles for this week :))


	7. cat in the bag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 07: clarke is pregnant au
> 
> or, the one where no one even knows they're dating, let alone banging
> 
> also for a prompt by lifeonashell on tumblr: "Bellarke secretly dating but clarke gets pregnant and they have to tell everybody all the news = )"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this is okay and you enjoy it!!

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit_.

Clarke is sitting down on the lidded toilet in her poorly lit bathroom waiting for the stupid pregnancy test in her hand to tell her whether or not she’s pregnant.

This has officially been the longest five minutes of her entire life. 

 _Shit_.

Two pink lines: she’s pregnant.

***

Every Friday, Bellamy picks Clarke up from her Anatomy class on campus and they walk back to his apartment together. They like to hang out in the afternoon before all of their friends plan a night out and they have to pretend to be reluctant friends the whole time. Bellamy and Clarke have been dating for about three months and still haven’t told any of their friends, _especially_ Octavia. 

They started dating after a long night worrying about Octavia at his apartment. O was supposed to come over for dinner and when she didn’t show, he called Clarke. When Clarke heard how worried he was, she hurried over and they worried together until Octavia came home later that night with Lincoln and a rather unconvincing story about how their car broke down and both of their phones died. Clarke’s not sure that Bellamy has fully forgiven Octavia yet.

Now here they are, three months later, and Clarke is wringing her hands together as she prepares to tell her sweet and loving boyfriend that they’re pregnant. That they’re having a baby. Them, _Bellamy and Clarke_. They haven’t even told their friends that they’re dating and now they’re having a _baby_.

And Bellamy is looking down at her smiling, telling her about his latest adventure as a TA for the university’s classics department. She can’t help but think she’s probably going to ruin his day (okay, and maybe his life) once they get back to his apartment and she tells him the news.

Bellamy grabs her hand as they walk through campus, getting closer and closer to his place. Clarke tries not to look as panicked as she feels. She angles her head down and leans into his shoulder, hiding her face in the fabric of his sweater.

*** 

Bellamy walks straight into the kitchen, tossing his keys into the bowl on the counter. He grabs a glass of water for the each of them and brings them into the living room. Clarke is already sitting on the couch, her hands lying in her lap. When she looks up at him, she looks apprehensive and Bellamy can feel his eyebrows knit together in concern.

He sits down next to her, grabbing her hands and placing them in his own lap.

“Clarke, what’s wrong?”

Clarke cringes at the genuine worry in his voice. _Shit_. She has to do this. Clarke just keeps staring at him, the look on her face becoming more and more alarmed.

She sucks in a deep breath and Bellamy hears her release a jumble of sounds before staring down at her lap.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant,” it comes out a little louder and a lot shakier. 

Clarke quickly looks up at him, wanting to see the look on his face but not really knowing what she hopes to find there. He’s looking at her, shocked, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. But then, a small smile graces his lips.

“Really?” Bellamy’s voice is so small, Clarke almost isn’t sure he even said anything. She just nods.

Clarke lets out a breath she _definitely_ knew she was holding in when Bellamy wraps his arms around her. She lets the relief wash over her, burying her face into his neck. 

When she pulls away, Bellamy grabs her face, the concern back on his face as he wipes away the tears streaming down her face. “Wait, what’s wrong? Do you not want this?”

Clarke smiles at him, her voice a little watery when she says, “No, no. I was just afraid you’d be upset, that you wouldn’t want this. Our friends don’t even know we’re dating, let alone _this_. Octavia doesn’t even know.”

The worries Clarke had earlier all bubble up to the surface, but Bellamy is still stroking her cheek with his thumb and she finds comfort in his touch.

“We’ll work it out. We will tell our friends and they’ll be happy that we’re happy. They’ve probably been making bets on when we’d finally get together anyway. I am pretty sure Jasper called me ‘Mr. Griffin’ under his breath a few times,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You don’t need to worry about them.”

Clarke still doesn’t look convinced, her lip pulled in between her teeth, her eyes cast downward into her lap. Bellamy places a finger under her chin, pulling her up to look at him. He leans closer into her, his dark eyes boring into hers. 

“If you want to have this baby, then so do I. This obviously wasn’t plan and it isn’t very ideal, but I think we can do it. I love you and I’ll love this baby. If that’s what you want, of course,” Clarke almost wants to cry ( _again_ ) at the sincerity in his voice and her worries seem to melt away.

“Okay,” Clarke sighs into him. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Bellamy wraps an arm around her, his warmth reassuring. He rests his head against hers. “Tomorrow, we’ll tell them about us. And then we can decide when to tell them about the baby.” 

Clarke smiles as Bellamy’s hand maneuvers around to her stomach, placing his hand over it, rubbing lightly.

He murmurs into her hair, “I love you." 

“I love you, too,” and Clarke almost feels like crying again, wrapped up in the support and love of her boyfriend.

They stay on the couch, tangled in one another, until Clarke gets a text from O about tonight’s plans. On the way over to the bar, Bellamy and Clarke discuss how to tell their friends they’re dating (and also how to explain Clarke’s inability to drink without giving away _that_ secret as well).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm not too confident about it, but it's finally done! i've had it in my drafts for like months, jfc


	8. say something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> day 08: wedding au
> 
> or, the one where clarke gets married

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you like it, i had alot of fun with this
> 
> and may have used it as an excuse to look at vera wang wedding dresses online so
> 
> ENJOY BABES

She looks like an angel, a vision in white. Half of her hair is pulled away from her face, the rest tumbling down her back and over her shoulders in soft golden curls. Her dress is a gentle white, flowers embroidered over every inch of it. Some of the thread is a metallic silver that shines as she moves down the isle. There is a short veil surrounding her head and a bouquet of baby’s breath in her hands. She’s smiling at the man waiting for her.

Bellamy can’t help the smile that stretches across his face at the sight. His hands nervously pat down his suit jacket before settling into his pockets. Clarke is slowly getting closer and closer to him, the train of her dress following her. She looks back down at the flowers in her hand, her cheeks a soft pink. She’s never looked more beautiful than this moment, looking happier than he can ever remember seeing her. Bellamy tries to capture the moment in his mind, how her eyes shine as she tries to keep happy tears at bay.

When she reaches the middle of the aisle, she walks past him, revealing the back of her dress. There’s a low cut in the back, a deep v that ends just above the soft skin at the small of her back. Bellamy can see the small mole on her shoulder blade and has the urge to run his finger around it like he used to in the mornings when he woke up to a sleepy Clarke in his bed. The bride stops at the end of the isle where Mr. Jaha is standing, waiting to give her away to the groom.

Finn smiles at his bride-to-be, his face bright with a giant grin. Bellamy has to look away, his gut clenching as he takes in the scene in front of him. He had wanted to be here, to support Clarke; but seeing her up there in that dress with Finn reaching out to take her hand from Thelonious’, Bellamy isn’t so sure anymore. He sneaks a glance at his sister, who is standing next to Raven in a pastel dress, and finds her looking at him, a sad smile on her face.

This is what he had wanted for Clarke, though. He remembers all of the fights they had over money as Bellamy struggled to keep his mother’s old bookstore running. Clarke had offered many times to lend him what he needs, help him out until the end of the month, telling him she loved him and knew how much the bookstore meant to him. And then the fights about money turned into fights about how Clarke was never around, her residency at the hospital taking up too much of her time. From there the resentment grew as Bellamy spent more time in an empty apartment and Clarke had to watch Bellamy struggle with the bookstore whenever she was actually around.

Bellamy can distinctly remember the polite, but disappointed face on Clarke’s mother’s face when she had brought him over for the first time. Abby smiled at him, but it never reached her eyes. He remembers waking up later that night to Clarke not being there, just to find her down in the kitchen arguing with her mother. Abby didn’t like him, thought she deserved someone who was _more like her_. He couldn’t blame her mother, though. Bellamy often entertained the same thoughts, always worried that Clarke would wake up and realize she deserves so much more, she deserves the world.

His heart drops as he remembers the night that ended it all. Bellamy had told Clarke that he was tired of holding her back, that she deserved someone who could take care of her. She had screamed back that he did, by loving her. Bellamy told her that maybe, in the end, love wasn’t enough. The look on Clarke’s face when she realized what he was doing is something he hopes he never has to see again. Just the thought forces him to squeeze his eyes shut and think of something else. He was almost relieved though, when he heard the door close behind her. _Almost._

Clarke had fought him, telling him she wouldn’t allow him to push her away. But Bellamy did what he thought was best for her. It’s been two years since they broke up. They usually only see each other around the holidays at Octavia’s. She gave them two options: they could both come and be civil, or neither or them could come at all. Octavia refused to pick sides, telling them they were adults and needed to learn to act like it. Last Christmas, Bellamy had overheard a conversation about a new boyfriend, a guy who works at the hospital with Clarke. And now, here he is, six months later, at their wedding.

This is what he wants for Clarke, someone who loves her and can take care of her. Someone who makes her happy, instead of stressed out and infuriated. But as they turn towards one another, smiling at each other, their hands clasped together in front of them, Bellamy realizes he can’t do this. He can’t watch the woman he loves marry someone else. He walks out of the aisle, trying not to attract too much attention from the people around him. Bellamy opens the doors of the church and slips out. He refuses to look back as he walks away.

*** 

Clarke takes a deep breath before she walks forward and tries not to look like she just spent 15 minutes crying in her dressing room having her bridesmaids talk her down from what could probably qualify as a panic attack. Finn is a good guy and he loves her. They could be really happy together. She tightens her grip around her bouquet and walks down the isle. Everyone looks towards her, an awed sound echoing in the small church. She takes a quick look around and finds _him_ within a few seconds—and his face says it all. Clarke quickly looks away before finding her soon-to-be husband and smiling as best as she can. 

Raven found her kneeling on the floor in her wedding dress, trying to scrub away the tears on her cheeks without messing up her makeup. Octavia had come in earlier to tell Clarke that Bellamy was going to be coming to the ceremony. She really shouldn’t have been surprised, but there she was.

Raven didn’t want to ask, but a few minutes later, Octavia did for her. “Do you not want to go through with this?”

Clarke knew her friends weren’t big fans of Finn, but they thought he was nice enough and it was visibly obvious that he adored Clarke. Her mother absolutely loved him. He was a gentleman, he was charming, he even worked at the same hospital Clarke did. Finn understood how demanding her career was. On paper, he was perfect. 

But from the floor of her dressing room, Clarke wasn’t so sure. They never really got to see each other, working in different specialties and on different schedules. She loved him, she did, but Clarke was beginning to wonder if she was _in love_ with him. They had only been dating for a few months when he proposed and she had said yes, thinking he’d be good for her. They wouldn’t have to worry about money, that’s for sure.

And then she had gotten caught up in the wedding planning. Finn (and her mother) wanted a short engagement. So Clarke got busy picking bridesmaids, colors, flowers, a venue, menus, the list goes on and on. It had all been so exciting and fun at the time. She had been overwhelmed with the joy of wedding planning with her best friends, trying on dresses and tasting cakes. 

Now, seeing Bellamy standing there in a tux but not at the end of the isle waiting for her, everything felt wrong. Finn was great, _but he wasn’t Bellamy_. He didn’t make her stomach erupt in butterflies with just a smirk from across the room. He didn’t make her skin feel like it was on fire when he dragged his hands across it. They didn’t fight as much, not nearly. But the passion that went into fighting with Bellamy was the same passion that fueled her love for him. Bellamy infuriated her to no end but she still loved him. She still _loves_ him.

Clarke told Octavia and Raven to leave so she could finish getting ready, told them to line up to go down the isle. They looked at her, worry apparent on their faces, but she closed the door on them. Her friends weren’t going to tell her to call it off and she wasn’t going to. Finn would be good for her, good to her. She loved him enough. 

Walking down the isle, Clarke keeps a smile on her face, fueled by the joy on Finn’s. She makes him so happy and she’ll be damned if she breaks his heart. Clarke makes it to him and turns to see the proud smile on Theolnious’ face as he gives her away in place of her father. She grabs onto Finn’s hand with all the power she has and tries to still the shaking.

The priest asks for any objections to the wedding, and Clarke tries to ignore the pang in her chest when the question is met with silence. The big door to the church opens and Clarke looks over quickly to see what’s happening, hope blooming in her chest. She turns in time to see someone walk out. Her eyes automatically move to where she had seen Bellamy earlier, looking as handsome as he usually does in a suit jacket, but he’s not there.

Clarke has a fleeting thought—that she’s glad he won’t be here to see this—before turning back to Finn, ready to say her “I do” after his.

*** 

Bellamy is pacing outside of the church house, his new shoes squeaking at each turn. He debates going back in for the reception, but decides against it once he imagines having to watch their first dance as husband and wife and hear all the speeches wishing them a happy marriage, a happy future. He’s walking to his car when he hears his name.

“Bellamy!”

He looks around to see Clarke running towards him, her heels in her hand and her train dragging in the grass beneath her. Her veil is flowing behind her, struggling to stay in her hair. She stops a few feet away from him and Bellamy tries to stop the hammering of his heart in his chest as he steps towards her, waiting for her to say something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WAS GONNA MAKE IT ANGSTY BUT I COULDN'T I AM SO SORRY
> 
> hope you likes itttttttt

**Author's Note:**

> come cry about bellarke with me on [tumblr](http://clarkeslight.tumblr.com) :))
> 
> title from andrew belle's song 'pieces'


End file.
